


Familiar Magic

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Characters, Asexual Supernatural Mini Bang, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Bisexual Dean, Dean Has Powers, Familiars, First Kiss, Homoromantic Castiel - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Panromantic Sam, Romance, Side pairing - Dean/Benny, Wizard!Castiel, creature!Benny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't believe in magic. He has both feet firmly planted in reality, thank you very much. Just because he sees blue eyes everywhere he looks doesn't mean it's anything more than a coincidence. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Magic

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've ever written for a bang, mini or otherwise. :D. Tons of hugs and kisses and cookies to karmascars for ripping this thing to shreds and putting it back together with a much better flow!!
> 
> Art is by stylishcastiel. Click [HERE](http://stylishcastiel.tumblr.com/post/116057296247/my-contribution-to-acespnminibang-this-was-done) to reblog or like their art!

Everything Sam looks at has blue eyes.

It's probably a silly thing to notice, but once he does Sam can't _stop_ seeing it. On his run that morning, he passed five people and all of them had blue eyes. The dove that landed on his window sill while he was making coffee had blue eyes. A magazine left on the bus stop bench has a woman with blue eyes on the cover. Sam picks it up, sipping idly at what is really more peppermint creamer than coffee, and flips through a few pages as he waits. Every eye he comes across is blue.

He tosses the magazine down with a shrug. _It's just one of those things_ , he tells himself. _You notice something once and then you see it all day. Totally normal._

Did someone in his dream last night have blue eyes?

“Ugh, wake up,” he mutters, shaking his head. He pulls out his phone, hoping to distract himself from whatever weird glitch his brain has decided to have.

He has an unread message. _Met a guy. Name's Benny. HELP._ Sam doesn't have to look at the sender's name to know it's his brother. He laughs as he scrolls down to see what time it was sent, and isn't surprised to see 1:14 a.m stamped there beneath Dean's name. A night owl to Sam's early bird, Dean is always up late.

The bus pulls up to the curb. Sam steps in, shows the driver his student I.D., and takes a seat in front of the first window. He types back a quick: _I'll call you after work, jerk,_ and then settles in to wait the last few minutes before the bus pulls out.

The driver is just reaching out to close the door when a man flies through it -- almost, Sam would swear, literally _flies_ – completely ignoring the steps in favor of springing up from the pavement like a cat, landing gracefully mere feet from the startled driver. The man holds out his hand palm up, long fingers spread and quivering slightly, and the driver nods. The door closes.

Sam blinks. Did he...? But no, thinking back, there was definitely a fare card in the man's hand. Sam drags a hand over his face and blinks a few more times, to try and clear his head. Blue eyes, missing cards... He must be getting less sleep than he thought.

“Thank you,” the man says, in a voice of sandpaper and cigarette smoke. He takes three long strides down the narrow aisle and collapses beside Sam, completely ignoring the rows of empty seats. Sam tries to study him without being obvious, even though it's apparent the man is exhausted and probably hasn't even noticed that Sam is sitting next to him. He's pale (but not wan) and thin (but fit) with a shock of black hair that squashes against the window behind them. His tan trench coat is clearly too big, spilling into the other seat and across Sam's left leg. A rumpled, black t-shirt and faded blue jeans peek out from beneath its smothering mass, and an incongruous black dress shoe bumps carelessly against Sam's worn sneaker. It's an adorably dorky ensemble, and Sam finds himself smiling at the odd stranger before he can stop it.

“Morning,” he says cheerfully.

The man's head lolls across the back of the seat until he's facing Sam. There are dark circles under his eyes, and from half-closed lids an incredibly blue gaze flicks tiredly up to Sam's face.

“Morning,” he says sleepily, and promptly passes out. The lines of his face relax in sleep, dark lashes resting gently on his cheeks.

For several seconds, Sam doesn't move. _It's just a thing_ , he tells himself again. _You see it once, you see it all day_. Just because this particular pair of eyes happened to be bluer than any other pair that morning... well, that doesn't mean a thing.

Sam forces himself to look down at his phone and tap the app to check his email.

A minute or so later, a warm weight presses up against his side. The stranger's head falls perfectly into the broad curve of his shoulder, soft hair tickling the sensitive skin of his throat, and he settles there with a contented, snuffling sigh. Irritation spikes through Sam and he twists to ask the guy to get up, but when he cranes his head down to peer at the exhausted face, relaxed in sleep, he finds himself smiling instead. The guy isn't hurting him, he decides, and it looks like he really does need the rest.

The bus comes to a lurching stop ten minutes later. The guy doesn't budge. Sam reaches over, and gently shakes his shoulder until he draws in a deep breath and those blue eyes flutter open. They peer up at Sam in sleepy confusion, and Sam can't help yet another smile. The guy really is adorable.

“This your stop?” Sam asks.

The man blinks once, then slowly turns to look out the window. He scrubs a hand over at least a day's worth of stubble and up to his eyes, rubs his fingertips there a moment before letting his hand fall. “No,” he says. He lifts his eyes to Sam's, steady despite the faint hint of red tinging his cheeks with the color of embarrassment. “My apologies.”

“It's okay, you didn't drool or anything,” Sam teases gently. He pushes himself to his feet, pocketing his phone. “Have a nice day.”

The man smiles, faint but genuine. “Thank you.”

It's just a fifteen minute walk from the bus stop to Scones & Scribbles, the quirky little coffee-shop-slash-bookstore that Sam's been working at for the last two years. The pay isn't the best, Sam knows he could get better, but he loves it here. The quiet atmosphere, the constant smell of books and coffee, and Sarah's fresh blueberry scones. He appreciates the flexible hours during semesters when his schedule is full of ancient languages and folklore. He especially likes that he doesn't _have_ to work full time during the summer even if he always does -- if only to make sure he has enough to pay his rent during school.

Sam shouts hello to Sarah, his boss, as he walks in and heads towards the break room in the back. He's sliding his phone from his jeans pocket to his coat when he feels it: something small and round and furry-soft, huddled deep in the bottom of his pocket.

“What the...” Letting the phone slip from his fingers, Sam prods carefully at the unknown object. If Dean left something dead in his pocket over the weekend –

The object moves. Sam lets out a sound that's dangerously close to a scream and yanks his hand out of his pocket. Quickly, he shrugs out of his jacket and dumps it on the table, eying it with a mixture of wariness and morbid curiosity when he sees the whatever-it-is in his pocket squirm against the fabric. And then a tiny head pops free, and Sam watches the smallest guinea pig he's ever seen wriggle out of his pocket to scurry toward the edge of the table.

“Whoa!” Sam lunges forward and cups his hand under the little critter before it can run right off the edge. It's the size of a hamster, with soft white and brown fur and little hazel eyes. It settles into Sam's palm and tilts its head, considering him, like it's totally normal for an animal to have hitched a ride in his freaking coat pocket.

“Sam? You okay?” Sarah walks through the doorway, eyes narrowed in concern -- until she sees the guinea pig and they widen to roughly the size of dinner plates. “Oh my god, that is so cute! When did you get a guinea pig? We probably shouldn't have it in the store, but I bet if we find a box or something it can stay for today.”

Sam just blinks at her, dazed, so Sarah takes the critter from him and strokes it gently with one finger. The guinea pig makes a low sound and tilts its head again, calm for a few long seconds before it appears to decide that it needs to be with Sam again. It begins scrabbling at Sarah's hands, trying its best to climb up her fingers before Sam carefully takes it back.

“It's not mine,” Sam says finally, shaking himself out of his stupor as best he can. He stares down at the animal, regarding him with its soulful little eyes. “I don't even... it was in my pocket.”

Sarah continues to stroke the guinea pig gently, and it seems perfectly content with that now that it's back in Sam's palm. “It's small. _Really_ small. But how in the world did you get a guinea pig in your pocket without noticing?”

“That's a great question,” Sam mutters, and then he realizes it must have been the guy on the bus. That trench coat definitely had pockets big enough, and Sam knew some people carried around smaller pets. “Shit, I think it was this guy on the bus. He fell asleep on me. It wouldn't have been too hard for it to get out and into my pocket.” Absently, Sam gives the guinea pig a little stroke. It mutters and arches into the touch, and Sam can't help but grin. It really is cute. “I'm glad I didn't crush it.”

“That poor guy must be freaking out, if it really is his,” Sarah says sympathetically.

“Yeah, well, it's not exactly smart to carry a small animal around in your pocket,” Sam says with a shrug, but really he feels kinda sorry for the guy, too. Maybe it's a rare or even unheard-of thing for the little critter to leave the safety of the stranger's pocket, and so the guy had no reason to think it was going to be a problem.

Sam knows he'll have to find the guy, but for now there is coffee to be brewed and a shop to run.

He and Sarah find a box for the guinea pig and leave it in the back, with some lettuce and a couple carrots from the kitchen. Sam resolves to search online for a way to reunite lost pets with their owners, but promptly forgets about it as the breakfast rush piles in for scones and caffeine.

At 12:30, Sam calls Dean.

“ _Why can't I just be ace, like you?”_ Dean says the second he answers, without so much as a 'hello'.

“Because you love sex more than anyone else on the planet?” Sam counters with a fond shake of his head.

There's a pause, followed by a quiet chuckle. _“Yeah, okay.”_

Sam laughs. “But this isn't about sex, is it?”

“ _No. I mean... yeah, well, you should see this guy, Sammy. He's burly and he's got this Southern accent I kinda wanna... anyway, met him at The Roadhouse last night, we ended up just talking 'til Ellen kicked us out at 1 in the friggin' morning. He – man, he walked me home!”_

Sam's glad Dean isn't actually in the room with him, because he's grinning like an idiot right now. It's been years since he heard Dean talk like this. His brother becomes infatuated with new and different people on what could be considered an alarmingly regular basis, but this sounds like more. This sounds like Dean might want to try for an actual relationship.

“That's great, dude!” Sam says, hoping Dean can hear how genuinely happy he is for him.

There's some grumbling and what sounds like Dean smacking his forehead on a hard surface. Before he can say anything audibly, Sam says, “Don't complicate it, just... If you like the guy, go for it.”

“ _I hate you,”_ Dean snarls _. “You're supposed to talk me_ out _of doing stupid shit.”_

“I hate you, too, jerk,” Sam says brightly, laughing when he hears a strangled growling noise from the other end. “Are you gonna call him?” he teases.

“ _Yeah, right after I hang up on your bitch ass,”_ Dean grouches.

Sam chokes back another laugh and takes pity on him, changing the subject and telling him about the morning's guinea pig adventure. He listens for any little tells that might indicate Dean is the culprit, or for the outright laugh he's half expecting, but none of it comes. All Sam gets is a long moment of silence, followed by a blurted, _“Was the guy wearing a trench coat? Way too big for him?”_

“Yeah,” Sam says in surprise. “Do you know him?”

“ _He owns Companions, that pet shop where I get Otis's food. It's like five blocks from your work on the same street. He has a guinea pig, it's always riding around on his shoulder.”_

Well, Sam's mission to return the critter just got a whole lot easier. “Great! Thanks, man. I'll take it back to him after my shift. Do you know when he closes?”

They hang up shortly after, since Sam's break is ending. He spends the rest of the day feeling a little lighter, knowing that soon his new little friend will be back where it belongs.

~

“Pick up!” Castiel growls into the phone, feeling only the tiniest surge of guilt when, seconds later, Dean does so.

“ _Dude! We talked about this,”_ Dean admonishes. _“Boundaries.”_

Boundaries, yes. Those strange, personal bubbles of privacy and free will that he's not supposed to use his magic to break. “I'm sorry,” Castiel bites out through teeth gritted in worry and fear. His stomach rolls and insists he can be sorry _later_. “Dean, Jetta is missing –“

“ _I know, she's with my brother. The hell were you doing on the bus, anyway?”_

Relief punches Castiel square in the gut, nearly sending him to his knees. He reaches out to grip the edge of his counter, his knuckles going white as he closes his eyes and pulls in a steadying breath. She's safe. She's all right. “My car broke down,” he replies finally, weakly.

“ _Oh. Okay, I can fix that later -- wait, you didn't try to replace the gas with that blue gunk again, did you? 'Cause there's no fixing that twice.”_

Castiel rolls his eyes, though his chuckle is fond. “No, the potion was a failure no matter what I did with it. Can you tell me where to find your brother?”

“ _He's coming to you. He said he'd bring her over after he got off work.”_

Another wave of relief washes over Castiel, and he finally gives up on standing and moves around the counter to sink on to his stool. “Thank you, Dean. I'll come over later and see if you can find out why she went to him.”

“ _Sure. And Cas? No more... encouraging, okay? You can't mess with people like that.”_

Castiel nods before he remembers Dean can't see him. “Yes, all right. I'm sorry, Dean.”

“ _S'okay, buddy.”_

There's a soft click as Dean hangs up. Castiel lowers the phone and sets it on the counter. He sighs, a quick burst of irritation that is only partially directed at Dean. He never thought about it before he met Dean three years ago: a nudge there, a suggestion here, just a few little nuances to keep things going smoothly in a world that was a constant source of confusion and anxiety for him. It never occurred to him that he was meddling with free will, until Dean figuratively hit him over the head with it.

Castiel picks up the phone again. He hesitates for just a moment before texting a quick _thank u_ to Dean. He knows Dean will know what it means.

He didn't have friends before Dean. Maybe it makes sense, then, that he never thought beyond himself.

At 5 pm, the sign on the door is flipped to 'closed'. Castiel is just finishing up the register when the entry bell chimes. He looks up to see a tall young man, with longish brown hair and hazel eyes, poking his head inside. When Castiel nods to him, he slides the rest of himself into the shop and closes the door.

He's really, _very_ tall.

“Hi, I'm Sam,” he tells Castiel cheerfully. He nears the counter, and Castiel can see Jetta cupped gently, _carefully,_ against his chest. “I'm told this little one is yours?”

Only just barely clamping down on the urge to summon his Familiar straight to his shoulder, Castiel instead just nods and reaches out with both hands cupped together. Sam deposits Jetta there, and she runs straight up Castiel's arm to nuzzle against his throat. A quiet hiss of relief escapes through teeth that Castiel didn't realize were clenched as his connection to her settles. He hears Jetta mutter, a low apology for the stress the separation caused them both, and he reaches up to stroke her head in acceptance.

“Thank you,” he says, hoping Sam can hear just how genuinely grateful he is. Castiel offers him a smile, hesitant and small because he rarely does so. “She's never done that before. I was very distressed when I discovered she was missing.”

Sam's smile softens. He reaches out and strokes a finger down Jetta's back. “Yeah, I bet. I have to admit, at first I thought you must not care about her very much. Looks like it's just the opposite.”

Castiel immediately wants to defend himself, but he bites it back. “I understand,” he says instead. Sam sees her as just a pet, of course he would think Castiel didn't care if he let her get away so easily. Jetta nuzzles him again, sensing his distress, and Castiel cranes his head to the side to smile at her. _It's okay. I love you._

Jetta mutters loudly, pleased, and gives Castiel a headbutt that essentially means _I love you, too._

“What's her name?” Sam asks. He's still lightly petting her, and Jetta seems quite content to let that continue for as long as Sam pleases.

“Jetta,” Castiel answers. “I'm Castiel, by the way.” He thrusts his hand out awkwardly, the motion stiff and unpracticed. Sam takes it easily, his large hand warmly engulfing Castiel's smaller one and giving it a firm shake.

“That's a neat name,” Sam says. “Like something out of a folk tale. Oh, or maybe an angel.”

“The angel of Thursday,” Castiel informs him, though that was something he actually didn't know until Dean decided his name was “ _badass_ ” and went on a small mission to discover the meaning behind it. “My brother is also named after an angel.”

He doesn't mention the irony of wizards having the names of angels, since even mentioning the fact that he's a wizard would be a rather large mistake. He has mentioned that irony to Dean, however, and they came to the shaky conclusion that it must have been Castiel's mother's way of getting back at those responsible for history's many witch trials. Or rather, _Dean_ came to that conclusion while spectacularly drunk, with Castiel just sitting there and watching him ramble with growing amusement.

A long moment of silence follows that Castiel finds oddly comfortable, if only because Sam doesn't seem overly concerned with making any small talk. Customers constantly talk to Castiel about anything on their minds and expect him to respond with interest, which Castiel finds burdensome and noxious. Not Sam, though. He just stands there petting an increasingly sleepy Jetta until she curls up against Castiel's neck, which somehow then galvanizes Sam to take an abrupt step back and gesture almost frantically towards the door.

“So, uh, looks like you're closing up. I'll just get out of your hair. Gotta catch the bus, anyway.”

This is all said in a rush. Sam's cheeks flush faintly and he smiles, eyes darting around the floor. One hand plays nervously with the long, plaid sleeve of his shirt. Castiel finds himself smiling back, and this time more easily. Sam has such a sweet smile himself. Castiel finds it endearing, in a way he hasn't found anything in a very long time.

“Yes, I need to catch the bus as well,” Castiel says. He finishes closing up the register and hits the lights, and when he turns around he sees Sam lingering in the doorway.

“Um.” Sam rolls his eyes at himself, which almost makes Castiel laugh. “You want to walk together? Since we're going to the same place?”

“Oh.” Castiel pauses, makes a show of checking for his wallet and keys and that Jetta is still secure on his shoulder. There's nothing to be nervous about, he tells himself. It's just a walk. “Yes, alright.”

It's still bright and sunny when the two step out onto the sidewalk. Castiel pauses to lock the door and scowl at the cheery sun beating heat down into his back. His trench coat is slung over his arm to keep Sam from growing suspicious of him, were he to wear it in this heat. He hates the summer. Even if he can regulate his body temperature, he much prefers the frosty white of winter, loves the way the sunlight makes everything appear covered in fairy dust and diamonds when its rays strike the snow.

“Don't like the heat?” Sam asks with a chuckle. He's still wearing his flannel over a black t-shirt. While it's not a particularly thick flannel, Castiel still can't understand how he can stand the extra layers.

“Not particularly,” Castiel replies, somewhat sourly. “Not unless it's the heat of a fire in the middle of winter.”

Sam chuckles again. It's a deep, rich sound that curls up from his chest and makes the corners of his lips quirk up, and Castiel finds himself wishing Sam would keep laughing. It's a calming sound. Castiel isn't accustomed to being calmed by other people.

“I love the summer,” Sam says. He closes his eyes and tips his face into the sunlight, drawing in a deep breath through his nose like he can pull the heat right inside his body. “Dean's always telling me I'm actually a cat.”

“You are most certainly not a cat,” Castiel blurts before he can stop himself. Briefly, he closes his eyes and chastises himself for his lack of control.

“No?” Sam opens his eyes and directs them to Castiel's face. They're practically sparkling with amusement and oh, he did not just use the word 'sparkling' to describe someone's eyes, he _didn't..._ “What animal am I, then?”

“I don't know,” Castiel replies grumpily. “I'll get back to you.”

Sam's grinning when Castiel glances at him, and Castiel curses himself when he starts to smile back. It's difficult to be grouchy at an expression like that.

“How long have you had Jetta?” Sam asks. It doesn't sound like an attempt to continue filling the silence, more like he's genuinely curious. For some odd reason, that pleases Castiel.

“Two years,” Castiel lies. Telling Sam how old she really was would raise suspicion. “Do you have any companions?”

Sam shakes his head. “No. I really want a dog, though. I love Dean's dog, Otis – has he ever brought him to the shop?”

Castiel nods. “He's very sweet. Jetta likes to ride on his back.”

“What?” Sam half-laughs the word. “Wow, I didn't think he was that gentle. Every time I go over to Dean's, he flattens me to the floor.”

 _Me too,_ Castiel thinks, but he doesn't say anything. It's becoming very clear that Sam doesn't know anything about his and Dean's friendship, and he doesn't know how much Dean wants revealed.

The two sit at the bench to wait for the bus. There's plenty of room, but Castiel finds himself maybe half a foot away from the other man, and unusually comfortable with it. It's not that he has a personal space problem – Dean is constantly telling him to _back up a foot or three; geez, Cas_ – but there are so few people he finds this relaxing. Sam just seems so open, and it's a nice change for the wizard who has such problems interpreting facial expressions and vocal tones and all the other little signals that make up the wordless, utterly ineffable portion of human language.

Jetta shifts against Castiel's throat. She makes a loud muttering sound, one that means she wants his attention. He focuses on the bond and feels a tug, more a strong coax than actual force, but when he feels that tug as a physical thing he looks down and sees his hand being shoved towards Sam's.

 _What are you doing?_ Castiel thinks fiercely, sliding his hand as subtly as possible into his lap instead. He gets a flurry of irritation from his Familiar, followed by a harmless graze of teeth against his skin. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could understand animals the way Dean can.

When the bus arrives, Sam and Castiel take seats side by side, and this time Castiel stays awake for the entire ride. It is difficult once he settles, though, and occasionally he droops forward as his lids try to slide closed.

“Rough night?” Sam asks, and Castiel feels a light flush heat his cheeks despite the fact that there's no teasing in Sam's tone.

“I stay up too late sometimes,” Castiel replies. He doesn't mention that last night it was because he was experimenting with a potion to try and save the red and yellow roses in his backyard... or the fact that he might have also been trying to turn them blue and purple. “I am sorry about this morning.”

Sam made a dismissive 'psh' sound. “It's fine, you didn't bother me. I mean, at first I was kinda miffed, but you looked so tired.”

When the bus stops, Castiel doesn't stand. Sam does, and then pauses, looking down at him in askance, and Castiel explains he's going to see a friend. Sam nods once, and then doesn't budge. He fidgets with the sleeve of his flannel again, eyes darting to Castiel's face and then to his own shoes several times.

“Did you need something?” Castiel prompts finally. His voice comes out gentle, like he's talking to Jetta, and it surprises him. He wonders how many more surprises he'll have before the day is over.

Sam blinks, mutters something about sleep, and practically dives off the bus. Castiel watches him go with a bemused expression, wondering if this is one of those times he missed some kind of signal.

The bus continues on for another twenty minutes before coming to the next stop. It's another ten minutes from there to Dean's rental house, an old two-story with a plain but well-kept yard. The wizard doesn't bother knocking – Dean gave him a key nearly two years ago.

The second the door is open, an enormous Great Dane barrels down the hall, claws clicking rapidly against the hardwood. Quickly, Castiel closes the door just in time to brace against it as the massive dog leaps up and tosses his paws over the wizard's shoulders, barking in greeting and licking Castiel's chin.

“Cas?” Dean strides into the hall from the kitchen. He's wiping his hands on a checkered kitchen towel, and Castiel can smell the pleasant aroma of spices wafting on the air as he moves.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. He scratches Otis behind his ears and breathes in the smell of Dean's cooking. From his shoulder, Jetta squeaks and bumps her head against Otis's paw.

“Hey! Otis, get down!”

Otis woofs and shoves himself backwards, falling to all fours with a heavy thump. Castiel gives him one last scratch and heads towards Dean, pulling in another deep breath as he goes. Whatever it is smells _amazing_.

“Spaghetti,” Dean tells him with a grin. “Want some? I made too much.”

“Please,” Castiel answers, and follows Dean into the kitchen.

The sauce bubbling gently in the pan is thick, spotted here and there with chunks of sausage and tomato. Castiel dips his finger into the pan when Dean isn't looking and licks it clean, barely containing a pleased moan. He's sometimes amazed by the fact that Dean doesn't cook for a living, he's that good at it.

There is what has to count as a _mountain_ of grated cheddar cheese piled up on the counter beside the stove. Castiel steals a pinch of that, too, but doesn't get it into his mouth before Dean turns from the fridge with two beers dangling from his fingers.

“Hey!” Dean kicks the fridge shut and flaps a hand at Castiel, driving him back and towards the table. “Cheese thief.”

Castiel chuckles. He sinks down into a chair and takes the beer Dean offers him. “I blame it on the fact that my first Familiar was a mouse.” Even a casual mention of Arrow causes a deep, sharp pain inside, but the wizard refuses to let that stop him from remembering the mouse fondly. Losing a Familiar is never easy.

Jetta mutters softly and nuzzles his throat in sympathy, and Castiel reaches up to stroke her in thanks. “Can you ask Jetta why she went to your brother?” he asks Dean.

Dean nods. He takes a swig of his beer and then leans back against the counter, locking eyes with the guinea pig and going very still. For a moment, Jetta holds just as still, and then she suddenly explodes into action, bouncing and squealing excitedly as she communicates with Dean.

And then Dean grins, wide and amused. A few seconds later and he's laughing so hard he has to grip the counter to keep from pitching forward. Castiel's eyes narrow further and further until his glare is so sharp that it should be able to slice right through Dean, and the man just keeps right on laughing.

“ _What?”_ Castiel finally growls, but Dean just shakes his head, unable to speak. The wizard rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, settling in to wait for his friend to calm down.

“S-sorry, man,” Dean gasps when he finally manages to settle. He shakes his head again, turns to dish up a couple of plates of the spaghetti and brings them to the table. Castiel waits impatiently while he goes back to get the cheese and finally sinks down into his seat. Dean presses both palms over his eyes for a moment, stifling another burst of chuckles trying to fight their way up his throat.

“So,” he says finally, letting his hands fall away. “Your Familiar just tried to set you up with Sammy.”

Jetta mutters loudly, like she's pleased with herself. Castiel just stares at Dean for a long moment, who appears to already have forgotten how amusing he found the whole thing in favor of shoveling food into his mouth.

“Set me up?” he says finally, when nothing else comes to him except confusion.

“Yeah,” Dean says around a mouthful of noodle and cheese. Castiel winces and flicks his eyes to his own plate before he loses his appetite. “'parently she thin's you'n Sam wou'd ma'e a good cou'le.”

“Chew your food,” Castiel mutters, rolling his eyes again, but Dean just chuckles and swallows thickly, grinning so widely that the wizard can see bits of cheddar stuck in his teeth. It never ceases to amaze Castiel that Dean can so thoroughly annoy him and cause him to feel so fond all at once. “I don't date.”

“Yeah, I've noticed.”

Dean says nothing more, so Castiel picks up his fork and digs into his food. Otis comes up a moment later and lays his head on the table top – an easy thing for him to do, considering he's _taller_ than the table. Dean feeds him bits of sausage and Castiel just shakes his head over the dog's terrible manners.

“So, what do you think of my brother, anyway?” Dean says abruptly. He doesn't look at Castiel, and his tone is light, but Castiel suspects he's actually curious.

The wizard thinks of Sam's floppy hair and that wide, genuine smile, and finds himself smiling at the memory. He sighs, and admits somewhat reluctantly, “I think he's someone I could enjoy.”

Dean tries to hide a smile behind a quick swig of beer, but he doesn't quite manage it. “He'd like you. He's got a thing for the socially awkward, and that's you all over.” He ducks a piece of sausage that Castiel casually flings at him, and they both can't help but laugh when Otis scrambles across the tile to get to it.

“If you want to ask him out, you should,” Dean says, more quickly now, like he's embarrassed and trying to get it all out in a rush. “But you should probably know he's asexual.”

And just like that, Castiel understands. A slow, stunned smile curls the corners of his mouth. “So am I.”

Dean grins, wide and easy, and just nods. “Kinda thought so.”

“I haven't...” Castiel sighs. He rubs a hand briskly across the back of his neck, a nervous habit he picked up as a child. “Dean,” he says brusquely, “the last time I attempted to romantically connect with another person, he just wanted to fuck me. That was six years ago.”

“Wow.” Dean looks stunned, like he can't possibly comprehend that, and likely he can't. In the three years they've known each other, Castiel can't remember Dean going longer than a week without some kind of sexual contact. He's such a naturally sensual being, and it honestly surprises Castiel that Dean accepts asexuality so easily. It bumps his already high level of respect for his friend up another notch.

“You don't have to do anything you don't want to, man,” Dean assures him, “but I don't think Sam would mind. Hell, he'd probably be pleased.”

Castiel just nods. A part of him shrinks from the idea, the part of him that has spent so many years avoiding reaching out because it's just easier -- but the majority practically aches with the desire to connect again. He has Dean, of course, and he's more than grateful for that, but he hasn't had a romantic attraction since he was fifteen.

Thirteen years is a long time to go it alone.

“I will think about it,” he says finally. Jetta gives a low mutter on his shoulder, clearly pleased, and Dean grins again.

“Awesome.”

They finish dinner, and Dean makes him sit down to watch another episode of Star Trek. They finished the original series last month, and are now working their way through the Next Generation. Castiel doesn't hate it, but he mostly lets it happen so that he can watch _Dean_ watch the show. It's nothing short of hilarious seeing how worked up Dean gets over whatever issue is presented in the current episode, or watching him yell at a character because he thinks they're being stupid. He settles in.

~

Castiel falls asleep on the couch just before the credits roll, with Otis sprawled haphazardly on top of him. Dean scoops up Jetta and puts her in the little bed on his desk, so she won't get squashed. Then he just stands there a moment, very still. Otis lifts his head and huffs softly. Dean grins.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, as Castiel sighs in his sleep. “I think they'd be good together, too.”

~

Sam doesn't believe in magic. He has both feet firmly planted in reality, thank you very much, and he knows that magic and the supernatural can only be found in myths and legends where they belong. And hey, he doesn't have anything against that; his entire book and movie collections consist of the fantastic. But that doesn't mean he _believes_ in it, damn it, which means that there has to be a perfectly good explanation for the utterly bizarre events of this morning.

First off, there's a ferret. A very large, blindingly white ferret with -- you guessed it -- blue eyes. It was curled up on Sam's pillow when Sam woke up that morning, regarding him levelly. Now it's perched on the end of the bed, its gaze so intent that Sam thinks it almost looks irritated, like it can't believe Sam hasn't picked it up yet. Like Sam would just reach for some random animal, no matter how sleek and soft its coat looks.

The second odd event is the appearance of Castiel's number, email, and address, all neatly entered into Sam's phone, along with a last name: Milton. Sam's phone never left his pocket last night, there's no way Castiel was able to enter his information into it – which leaves Sam standing there at the foot of his bed with too many questions, being stared at by a ferret while he stares at his phone.

 _Dean_ , he finally decides. Has to be Dean. It's right up the juvenile alley he calls humor, and it would be something he'd think up after hearing Sam's story about the guinea pig. Why he thought it might be funny to throw in Castiel's information, Sam doesn't know, but at least the explanation is logical.

He frowns at the ferret. It cocks its head to the side, blinking.

Cautiously, Sam holds out his hand. The ferret immediately trundles over to it and climbs right up his arm, twining itself around his shoulders and settling there, like that's always been its place. Sam freezes up for a moment, startled, but the ferret just hangs there, nuzzling briefly against Sam's throat. Its fur is as soft and warm as it looks, and Sam finds himself relaxing. He reaches up to scratch at the ferret's head, then carefully reaches over and lifts one of its legs. Okay, definitely a he, then.

“You're pretty friendly,” Sam comments, and the ferret rubs enthusiastically against his hand, apparently agreeing with him.

Sam has less than fifteen minutes to get ready for work, so he lets the ferret hang around his shoulders as he flies through his normal routine. He texts a quick _ha ha, very funny!_ to Dean on his way out the door and decides he'll take the ferret to Castiel's after work. And not, Sam tells himself firmly, just because he wants an excuse to see Castiel again.

~

Ferrets can get out of boxes. Sam discovers this twenty minutes into his shift, when a regular lets out a startled shriek as the ferret weaves between her legs and makes a beeline for Sam.

“I'm so sorry!” Sam scoops up the long critter and slings him over his shoulders, where he settles quite happily. “I thought I had him contained.”

The customer, a dark-haired woman called Cassie, just laughs and shakes her head. “It's okay, he just startled me. What's his name?”

“Gabe,” Sam blurts, and then he just stares sightlessly at nothing while Cassie comes up to pet the ferret. Where the _hell_ had that come from?

The ferret -- _Gabe_ escapes six more times and scares two more customers before Sarah finally sends Sam on an early lunch. He doesn't blame her, he knows he shouldn't even have the ferret in the shop in the first place.

 _Companions_ is empty when Sam walks in, except for its owner. Castiel is sitting on a high stool behind his counter, intently focused on his computer screen and muttering distractedly to the guinea pig on his shoulder. He looks up when the bell chimes, and his eyes go immediately to the ferret slung around Sam's neck.

“You have a ferret,” he says.

“Yeah.” Sam shakes his head, still more than a little confused by the whole event. “I think it was Dean. He put your info in my phone, too, for some reason. You guys must be friends?”

Castiel nods slowly. He's staring at the animal with such intensity it's unnerving. “I... yes. Sam, may I see the ferret?”

“Sure.” Sam takes Gabe carefully from his shoulder and holds him out. He seems completely at ease when Castiel takes him just as carefully and lifts him to eye level, even when Castiel's eyes grow wide with what Sam thinks is shock.

“His name is Gabe, apparently,” Sam says rather inanely, suddenly nervous for no reason that he can see. “It just fit him, I guess. Anyway, can you find him a home?”

“No,” Castiel snaps. He thrusts Gabe back at Sam. “He is yours.”

On autopilot, Sam takes the ferret back. Gabe returns to Sam's shoulders, nuzzling his head against Sam's cheek like he can sense the human's confusion.

"Uh... I don't have the stuff to take care of a ferret,” Sam says finally. “I mean... I guess I wouldn't mind keeping him. He's pretty cool. I need a cage, right, and some --”

“No!” Castiel actually shouts this time. He looks furious, eyes narrow and expression so dark that Sam actually takes a startled step back. He turns away and storms out from behind the counter, striding into the back of the shop without looking back at Sam. He emerges minutes later with a large bag that he practically throws at Sam. It contains a small litter box, a bag of food, and a little, round bed that looks like it's meant for cats. “This is all you need. Allow him to run freely in your home, he won't destroy anything. If possible, take him with you wherever it won't get you in trouble. If you have any cardboard boxes he would enjoy them.”

This is all said quick and sharp, and Sam is so tired of being confused today. He wants to know what he's done to upset the man so much, and he finally blurts out, “Is something wrong?”

Castiel stares hard at him a moment, reminding Sam of the way Gabe stared at him that morning -- and then he just seems to deflate, letting the anger out in a long gust of a sigh. He massages the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. “No. No, I'm sorry, Sam. I had a very long night, I shouldn't have taken it out on you.'

It's such a relief to have something finally make sense that Sam just nods his understanding. “I get that, I feel that way when I get about halfway through a semester and I have too much homework. The dumbest stuff just sets me off.”

Castiel cocks his head, like a curious dog, and Sam doesn't even bother trying to stop himself from thinking about how cute it is. “You're in college?”

“Yeah, second year,” Sam says. “I'm studying ancient languages, mostly, but I'm really into mythology and folklore and sorry, you probably don't care about any of this.”

Castiel smiles. It's slow and small, soft in a way that makes Sam blush despite a very desperate attempt not to. “No, I don't mind. I...” he pauses, scrubs a hand across the back of his neck. “I wouldn't mind hearing more,” he says in a rush. “That is, if...” he stops again, sighs and rolls his eyes at himself. “I'm trying very hard to ask you out, but I think I've forgotten how.”

It takes a stunned Sam almost a full minute to react beyond a flurry of surprised blinks. He knows the grin that explodes across his face is ridiculous, it's not like he really knows this guy – but then again maybe that's the whole point. “Yeah! I mean, sure. Oh, but you should probably know I'm asexual.”

Sam doesn't usually hold out much hope once he lets that little bomb drop. He's had more than one person turn him away right then -- or worse, try to work around it and let him hope only to discover it wasn't something they could do. Still, he waits with bated breath, _wanting_ to hope, because for whatever reason he really seems to like this guy and it's been way, way too long.

And then Castiel smiles again, not sympathetically or in confusion but in understanding. Hope doesn't just come roaring back in, it pitches a tent and threatens to stay. Sam's more than a little okay with that.

“Yes, Dean told me,” Castiel says. “I am as well.”

“Oh,” Sam replies, and then his eyes fly wide in delighted surprise when he realizes, _oh_. “Oh!That's, that's great! Okay, when did you want to meet? I get off at four.”

Castiel tilts his head again, considering. “I will close at 4:30, then,” he says finally. “Is there anywhere in particular you would like to go?”

“We could meet at my work,” Sam offers. “I pretty much never get tired of Sarah's coffee. Do you know where Scones & Scribbles is?”

Castiel nods once. “Yes, I've passed it a few times. I'll come over once I close up?”

Sam nods back, with what he thinks is probably a little too much enthusiasm. “Great,” he says. “I'll see you then!”

There's still a big grin stuck to his face when he gets back to work. When Sarah asks him what he's so happy about, he just informs her cheerfully that he has a date, and proceeds to completely ignore her demands for details. It's not like she won't see the whole thing, anyway.

~

For nearly five minutes after Sam leaves his shop, Castiel stands perfectly still and stares at nothing. Not even Jetta's insistent headbutting against his throat can get him to so much as twitch. When he does move, it is nothing short of explosive. He yanks the blinds down, locks the door with a snap of his wrist, and closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, he's standing in Dean's living room.

“ _DEAN!_ ” he roars up the stairs, not bothering to wait for an answer before he's striding over to the couch and falling into it. He closes his eyes, drawing a deep breath. Travel always takes far too much energy out of him.

Castiel can hear someone scrambling around upstairs. There's a curse and a muffled thump, followed by a deep, rich laugh that is most certainly not Dean's. The wizard really can't bring himself to feel all that bad about it, though, considering just how often Dean has ' _company_ '. Castiel waits patiently, eyes still closed, breathing more evenly now that he's calm. He feels out the center of his magic and basks in it, in an attempt to restore some of his energy. It always appears to him as a warm, white-tinged blue, a substance that's as much a part of him as his skin, or his soul.

At the rapid thump of feet on the stairs, Castiel opens his eyes. Dean is wearing nothing but a flimsy excuse for a black robe and one sock, along with some rather epic sex hair.

“Dude, tell me you did not just Travel straight into my living room.” Dean has his eyes closed and a tight, drawn expression that says he really hopes Castiel isn't there when he opens them.

“My apologies,” Castiel says wearily.

Dean's eyes pop open. “ _I'm with someone!”_ he hisses, like this is somehow unusual.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You're often with someone. This is an emergency.”

His friend's face is turning red, not with anger – Castiel has seen an angry Dean, and he looks nothing like this – but what looks like frustration. He opens his mouth to argue, and lets out a sharp sigh instead. “Yeah, okay, you wouldn't have chosen to Travel over if it wasn't. Gimme a few minutes?”

Castiel nods, and Dean scrambles back upstairs.

He comes back twenty minutes later with even worse hair, completely barefoot. There's a stupid smile on his face as he sinks down on the couch beside the wizard, and he doesn't flinch when Castiel glares at him.

“Sorry,” he says with a shrug. It's clear he's not. “What's up?”

Castiel opens his mouth, then closes it. He's not sure where to start. Finally he just says, “Sam came to see me today. He had a Familiar.”

Dean springs from relaxing and oozing off the couch to bolt upright and wide-eyed. “Say again?”

“He had a Familiar.” Castiel lets his head turn to the side so he's looking right at Dean. “He had a Familiar with _my eyes._ ”

“And Jetta has Sam's eyes,” Dean concludes numbly. Castiel nods. “Holy shit. _Holy shit,_ Cas, what the fuck? Does that mean Sam has magic?”

“I can't sense any from him,” Castiel muses. “When he came to see me today, I thought that he must have concealed it from me, and was taunting me for some reason... but it became clear very quickly that he has no idea.” Castiel scrubs both hands across his face, trying in vain to wipe away his confusion. “I didn't think wizards could have have soul connections with anyone non-magical. I didn't think the non-magical could have Familiars. Dean, I'm very confused.”

“And I'm supposed to help you how? Hey!” Dean yelps when Castiel smacks him across the chest with the back of his hand. He rubs at it exaggeratedly. “All I know is what you've taught me, man.”

“I know,” Castiel growls. “I know, I just...”

He trails off with a sigh. Dean reaches out, claps him on the shoulder and says nothing.

“I asked him out,” Castiel says after a moment, somewhat helplessly.

“Yeah?” Dean actually perks up in his seat. He will probably deny it to his grave, but Castiel knows that Dean is a romantic at heart. “What'd he say?”

“I'm meeting him at 4:30, today,” Castiel answers, and Dean grins so hugely that it brings out every one of the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Awesome! So what then hell are you doing here, then? Go, get ready! Shave or something!”

“I don't need to shave,” Castiel says defensively, but he finds himself reaching up to stroke fingertips across his cheeks anyway.

All right... maybe he does.

He leaves Dean an hour later. The shop stays closed, since he spends the rest of what time he has left shaving and desperately searching for a pair of jeans that don't look ancient. Even with all the preparation, it still isn't until he's actually out the door and walking down the sidewalk that it actually hits him. He's going on a date. A real date. With someone just like him.

He's fairly certain he scares a couple walking past him when he lets out a laugh, all his disbelief packed tightly into the sound.

When Castiel opens the door to Scones & Scribbles, the sweet scent of baked goods mingled with the crisp, old smell of well-loved books assaults his senses. He pauses in the doorway to breathe it in, picking out the distinctive smells of strong coffee and what he's fairly certain are blueberry scones. Sam is waiting for him at a small, round table set by the window closest to the door. He grins when he spots Castiel, waving him over.

“Hey!” he says when Castiel pulls out his seat, the new Familiar still hanging around his neck. Gabe lifts his head, looks at Castiel with something resembling contempt before nuzzling Sam's cheek. From Castiel's shoulder, Jetta lets out a tiny shriek that means she agrees with the ferret, and Castiel would really like to borrow Dean's ability right about now.

“Hello, Sam,” he greets, and sits.

“I ordered us scones, I hope you don't mind. I don't even know if you like scones. Maybe I should have asked first,” Sam babbles, and then he groans quietly and rakes a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I get --”

Castiel reaches across the table and sets his index finger against Sam's lips. They're smooth and warm and he rather likes it. “I'm nervous, too,” he says simply, and smiles when Sam's mouth curves into another one of those wide grins.

The wizard lowers his hand, just in time for Sarah to bring them their scones and two cups of coffee. She also sets a little bowl of creamer down in front of Sam with a teasing wink, and asks Castiel if he wants any. Sam's faintly smells of peppermint.

“No, thank you,” Castiel declines. “I like mine black.”

“Cool. Just yell if you need anything,” she says, smiling. She winks at him, too, but Castiel is fairly certain this one has a different tone than the one she gave Sam.

The scones are amazing, lighter than he's used to and just sweet enough, but Castiel barely notices. It's difficult to notice anything other than how crumbs keep sticking to Sam's lips, and how it makes him look incredibly dorky when he grins because it's all over his teeth, too – or how he pours what has to be at least half the bowl of creamer into his coffee – or how he _laughs,_ deep and honest, and warm.

Sam is full of stories, most of which seem to involve Dean. Some of them Castiel already knows – particularly the one about fifteen-year-old Dean stealing the Impala and joyriding with twins from his high school. Dean is rather proud of that one. Castiel certainly did _not_ know that Dean took his current job at the Roadhouse three years ago because he was helping Sam pay for school, or that their mother died in a fire that may or may not have been caused by their drunken father, who dropped off the map a month after it happened. The wizard knew from the beginning that Dean had a younger brother whom he'd cared for since he was sixteen, but Dean always avoided the subject of _why._

“So, tell me about your classes,” Castiel says eventually. As amusing as it is to hear stories about Dean from another person besides Dean himself, Castiel already knows him. He wants to know more about _this_ Winchester.

Sam beams, and Castiel knows he's asked the right question.

Sam tells Castiel about his ancient language and folklore courses, his love of fantasy and magic, and his mild obsession with Lord of the Rings. Castiel in turn tells him that he opened the shop six years ago, that he someday wants to run an animal shelter, and about his own mild obsession... with bees. They are the safest topics he can think of, certainly not what he thinks of as his most interesting qualities, but Sam actually seems interested. He gets Castiel to talk for nearly thirty minutes about honey bees and why he finds them so fascinating – it would likely take much less time to talk about what he _doesn't_ find fascinating – and winds up weedling stories out of the wizard about how he became so interested in animals in the first place. It's surprisingly easy to talk about, even without mentioning magic.

“Okay, get out!” Sarah yells suddenly, and Castiel realizes with a start that it's 6:30p.m. Her tone is good-natured but serious. “I'm closing up, go flirt elsewhere!”

Sam laughs, flushing lightly. “Do you... it's not that late, you could come back with me if you want. To my place. The next bus is in half an hour.”

An instinctual twinge of trepidation closes fist-tight around Castiel's lungs, just for a moment, before he remembers that he doesn't have to worry. Going to Sam's place won't mean unwanted sexual advances. It means exactly what it sounds like – going into Sam's home and continuing their conversation. It's such a relief that Castiel actually grins, for the first time in what he thinks must be years.

“I'd love to,” he says, and gets a giant Sam-grin in return.

They're sitting on the sun-warmed metal bench, waiting for the bus, when Sam says, “You said you opened the shop six years ago?”

Castiel nods. Sam gives him a once-over that makes Castiel at once slightly uneasy and strangely excited. “You're, what... late twenties?”

“Close,” Castiel says. “I turned thirty last month.”

“Wow.” Sam's eyes widen as the word tumbles from his mouth. “Shit, I didn't mean... you look really good! I mean...” he trails off with a sigh and a sheepish grin, but Castiel just laughs, a comfortable rumble in his chest.

“Thank you,” he says simply, and Sam seems relieved. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” Sam answers. “I got a late start on college.”

Six years. It's not that large of a gap, and Castiel thinks Sam's manner seems more mature than usual for someone that age. He can definitely live with it.

“I started the shop with a partner,” Castiel says abruptly. He doesn't know what makes him say it. Maybe it's just Sam's wide gaze that seems to whisper _tell me your secrets. You're safe here._ He wants to be irritated by it, and instead is strangely relieved. “He was the last person I went out with.”

“Wow.” It's said differently this time, sympathetic and understanding. “I get that, it's hard to date when you're asexual. I had a girlfriend for a while, my first year, and she tried really hard to adjust, but... it didn't work out. Was he the same way?”

“No, I wish he had been,” Castiel sighs. “AJ somehow found out that I was asexual before he asked me out, but instead of respecting that, he tried to trick me into sex. I’m not repulsed by it, and I did sleep with him once because it was something he wanted, but he put continual pressure on me for more.” Castiel sighs, shrugs his shoulders once and keep going because Sam’s still looking at him, still soft and inviting. “I’m not adverse to it every once in a while, I suppose. It certainly feels nice. I just…”

“Don’t feel attraction that way,” Sam finishes, and Castiel smiles. Why is he trying to explain this? Sam _knows._

It’s nearly seven thirty by the time they reach Sam’s home, but Sam offers him a cup of coffee anyway. They sit at the tiny kitchen table and talk about simpler things; bad horror movies and Doctor Who and Sam’s fascinatingly extensive knowledge of what he believes to be mythical creatures. They’re discussing the variety of selkie folklore when Castiel realizes it’s after 9p.m.

“I should go,” he says reluctantly. “I open the shop at seven.”

Surprised, Sam twists around to glance at the glaring red numbers of his oven clock.

“That’s… the longest date I’ve had in years,” Sam says slowly. “Not that it was bad! I mean –“

Castiel smiles. He taps a finger over Sam’s lips again, and Sam’s eyes are wide with nerves and amusement and Castiel already can’t wait to see him again. When Sam seems quieted, Castiel hands the younger man his phone. “If you give me your information, I’ll call you tomorrow?”

Nodding eagerly, Sam takes the phone and taps his number into it rapidly. “I’ll be on break from twelve to twelve-thirty,” he says as he hands back the phone. The excitement in his gaze is infectious; Castiel is already mentally adjusting his usual lunch schedule.

“Goodnight, Sam,” Castiel says warmly. He lays a hand over Sam’s, briefly, thrilling in the way it curls up to press more fully into his palm.

~

Sam is cheerfully getting ready for bed when the phone buzzes.

_What's funny?_

Sam rolls his eyes. He hits reply and types back to Dean: _The ferret? Where did you even get this thing? And what's with putting Cas's info in my phone? Trying to set us up?_

He sets the phone down and goes to brush his teeth. The alarm is set for 6a.m and he's pulling back the covers when the phone buzzes a second time.

_Did it work?_

Sam's grin is huge and stupid as he types back: _yeah. it did._

~

One thing becomes very clear, very quickly. Sam Winchester does not believe in magic.

It baffles Castiel because Sam has magic _everywhere._ There are stacks of books in his apartment on every mythical, magical, or legendary creature that was ever imagined – or that actually existed, not that the wizard would be mentioning that just yet. Sam has stacks of fantasy novels, pictures of witches and wizards and dragons on his walls. When they're together, Castiel discusses the (figurative) world of magic more than he ever has in his life, and he _lives in it_ . Sam can talk for hours about vampires and different versions of the werewolf, and Castiel has to catch himself on several occasions because his ideas about the Fae are frankly ridiculous. Amusing, certainly – whoever decided the Fae had _courts_ and granted wishes was either wasted or trying to be cute.

July is gone and August is well on its way out before it strikes Castiel that Sam isn't going anywhere. It's working, _they_ are working, and it might be the most terrifying thing to happen to Castiel since AJ tried to take the pet shop from him. Terrifying, because this means he has to tell Sam what he is.

It should be easy, knowing how Sam feels about magic. Far from it. Sam firmly believes all of it to be fictional, and he's adamant about keeping both feet on the ground and his head out of the clouds. It's no stretch to imagine how he'll react.

A week before Sam's fifth semester starts, Castiel Travels home.

He appears in the living room of his parents' massive beach house in Florida, after leaving a sleeping Jetta in her little bed beneath the register. He's always hated Florida. It breeds a humid, clinging heat that Castiel is fairly certain one could drown in. Thankfully, the house is air-conditioned, and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief as the cool air caresses his face. If it's too hot for him in Kansas, he doesn't dare think of what might await him outside this house.

Exhaustion and worry hit him in a staggering double-tap, and Castiel finds himself sinking down into a plush white sofa, without even bothering to call out to anyone that might be home. The place hasn't changed much since he was last here nearly a year ago. White everywhere -- carpet, couch, and chairs placed in a semi-circle, with a slightly denser white on the walls. His mother has always loved the lack of color as much as Castiel despises it. The only new addition he sees is a glass coffee table with, surprise surprise, white legs that curl upwards elegantly from the floor. The glass is immaculate, and Castiel is seized with the urge to rub his fingerprints all over it -- that is, if he presently had the energy to stand.

He is sinking deeper into the couch, letting his head be supported by the admittedly wonderfully overstuffed cushions, when he hears a warm chuckle from the doorway.

“Hello, Castiel.”

With no small amount of effort, Castiel lifts his head. His father, Michael, is leaning on the doorway with the tiny curl in the corners of his lips that passes as his smile.

“Thought I sensed you,” he continues. “You were never very good at containing the energy burst when you Travel.”

Castiel shakes his head wryly. “Is mother home?”

His father nods once. “I'll get her for you.” He starts to turn, but pauses. He twists his head over his shoulder, one slim black eyebrow raised in question. “You seem... happy.”

The wizard just continues to smile, more broadly now, and he gets one of Michael's rare, fuller smiles in return. “Good,” he says simply, and leaves the room.

Castiel lets his eyes slip closed while he waits. It used to bother him, when he was younger, how quiet and generally non-responsive his father is. Michael was never particularly affectionate or active, but as Castiel grew older and determined that he was asexual, _different..._ well, it became easier to see the ways in which Michael communicated, how heshowed his affection. Tiny smiles, lingering gazes, a brief grip on the shoulder, these were the small ways Michael said he cared, and it's enough now.

Very suddenly, there are slim arms encircling Castiel's shoulders and a pair of plush lips pressing into his cheek, and he thinks his mother Anna's exuberance more than makes up for Michael's introversion.

“You don't visit often enough,” Anna accuses quietly, even as she keeps hugging him with a strength no one would suspect she had with her delicate features.

“I'm sorry,” Castiel replies. Anna pulls back and gives him a glare that would make a dragon cower. “I'm very sorry?” he tries, and breathes a sigh of relief when the look melts from her face as she laughs.

“It's okay -- but it's my job to give you a hard time,” Anna says brightly.

Castiel rolls his eyes, but that just makes Anna laugh again. “I need to ask you something,” he says. “Has a wizard ever bonded with someone non-magical?”

“It happens. It's very rare, but it's definitely possible. Why?” Anna visibly brightens. “Have you met someone?”

Castiel barely has a chance to nod before he's being smothered in another hug. He hugs her back, lets the awe of it roll over him again because sometimes, he still can't quite believe that Sam is _real_.

“I'm not surprised, actually,” Anna says as she pulls back. “That's he's non-magical, I mean.”

“Oh?” Castiel tilts his head in question.

“Because of your sexuality,” Anna says easily, and Castiel thanks god, not for the first time, that he has such understanding parents. “We usually need the sexual attraction, that energy, from our bondmates -- but you're going to draw off an entirely different kind of energy, and it's perfectly possible that it doesn't need to be magical. Now.” Anna shuffles around so she's sitting cross-legged on the couch facing him. “Details.”

Castiel chuckles. He draws one leg up on the couch so he's also facing her. “His name is Sam. I met him almost three months ago. Jetta sensed he was like me, so she... well, she essentially attempted to set us up.”

“And what makes you think he might be a bondmate?”

“He has a Familiar,” Castiel says simply, and lets that sink in, watches his mother's eyes widen almost comically.

“But... you said he was non-magical. That... okay, I've never heard of that.”

“He didn't have one until he met me,” Castiel adds. “It came to him the day after we met. My number also appeared in his phone. He believes Dean did it, and Dean's been encouraging that. He's trying to protect Sam from our world, I think.”

“So he doesn't know about Dean's ability?” Anna frowns as Castiel shakes his head. “Or that he's a hunter? Dean never seemed that... subtle, to me.”

Castiel laughs, a quick, amused bark. He's already looking forward to the offended look on Dean's face when he hears _that_. “He can be surprisingly subtle, when he truly wants to be. I think he just wants things to be simple for Sam. However...” a frustrated sigh cuts off Castiel's words. He runs a hand through his hair and just ignores the way his mother immediately reaches out to fix it. “I have to tell him. I do, and I will, I just... don't know how.”

Anna smiles. “Show him. And if he needs space, give it to him.”

She makes it sound so easy. Castiel can only hope that it is.

He stays the night, enjoying once again being in a space where using words like “bondmate” and “spell” and “Familiar” are perfectly natural. He's no less nervous when he returns to open his shop the next morning, giving himself some extra time to recover from the post-Travel crash, but he does feel somewhat more prepared.

He's been open for maybe half an hour and is feeding the mice when the bell above the door chimes. The gentle sound is followed by a _surge,_ dull ache and ancient knowledge and something feral and snarling that catches him completely off guard. He gasps, fumbling briefly with the food in his hands before it all crashes to the floor, Jetta squealing in protest as she is nearly dislodged from his shoulder. For a moment, he feels as if his own power has been utterly eclipsed. He reaches with a shaking hand for the nearest shelf, grips it tight and draws in a breath to compose himself before turning towards the door.

The man standing just inside is tall and thick, muscle and a bit of padding that looks like maybe too much alcohol. He has a scruffy face and a quirky, crooked smile topped off with a floppy, crooked hat, and nothing about him appears threatening. His presence is relaxed, inviting even, but that sense of power remains.

“Hi there,” he says, in a thick Southern accent. “You Milton?”

Castiel gives a single nod. It's intimidating, just how much magic is in this man, and yet his smile is loose and easy, gentle, with only the barest hint of an edge. Nothing like Sam's smile, Castiel thinks, too genuine and open to hide anything, and just when in the hell did he start comparing everything to Sam?

Jetta rubs her head against his neck and mutters smugly in response to his thoughts. And then she sends him something else, a nudge to send his thoughts in the right direction.

“Shape-changer,” Castiel blurts, and it resonates as _right_ the moment it leaves his lips.

The man's smile widens. There's a sliver of caution in his gaze as he takes a single step forward, but Castiel still doesn't feel threatened in any way. “That's right. No worries, brother, I'm one of the good guys. I was told you might be able to help me with a vampire nest.”

The wizard is going to find whoever gave the man this information and let Jetta chew through their throat. Still, he lets out a sigh of, “Yes,” because it's true. It wouldn't be the first vampire nest he's helped eradicate. He's always had a special talent when it comes to fire and light magic. “This isn't Lenore's nest, is it?”

“Nah, I checked that out when I came to town a couple months back,” he says. “They're all right. The ones I'm looking to burn are killin' kids over on the other side'a town.”

Castiel has never been particularly interested in hunting. He's painfully bad at interacting with most people, and working as a team is nearly impossible for him. There are so many little signals, silent or wordless, that he can't pick up on. The first time he was recruited to help take out a nest, he nearly got two of the hunters killed because he didn't understand that they were trying to send him around the _back_ of the barn instead of the front. He believes that hunting is necessary, of course, but that it's better for everyone if he stays out of it.

Children, however... that makes him think twice.

“I will help,” he says finally. “Who told you about me?”

“Ellen, over at The Roadhouse,” the man replies. “Said you don' like bein' disturbed, but I figure this is somethin' I'm gonna need help with.” He steps forward and holds out a hand. As usual, it takes Castiel a few seconds to remember to reach out and shake it. “I'm Benny Lafitte.”

“ _Dean's_ Benny?” Castiel blurts.

The hand in his tightens briefly in surprise before letting go. Benny chuckles, low and deep in his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, I like that. Little bastard's definitely got his hooks in me.”

Castiel can't help the short laugh that punches out of him – he doesn't think Dean would appreciate being referred to as “ _little_.” “Is he aware of the fact that you're a shape-changer?”

Benny shakes his head, his gaze softening with a strange, sad kind of fear. “I've been afraid to tell him. Scared he'll run off.”

“He won't. He knows about me. He'll probably be angry you didn't ask for his help with the vampires. If anything, you'll just need to make sure he knows the difference between a shape-changer and a shape-snatcher.”

Benny's eyes darken just at the mention of it. Castiel doesn't blame him. He has only one experience with a shape-snatcher, and it was the monster that killed his first Familiar in an attempt to get closer to the Milton family. He never found out exactly _why_ it was trying to get so close – the discovery of the tiny little body of Arrow put him into such a rage that he killed the monster before anyone could force it back to its original form and question it.

“He a hunter?” Benny asks suddenly, information apparently just catching up to him.

Castiel nods. He almost mentions Dean's talent, but he feels that he's trespassed too far into this already.

“Huh. Well, that makes things easier.” Benny sounds relieved, and Castiel can see a visible tension ease from his shoulders. “I'm plannin' on gettin' the nest tomorrow afternoon. They're camped out in a crypt in a cemetery like some cliché , shouldn't be too difficult.”

“All right.” Castiel hesitates. He wants to help, and he feels better knowing that this is Dean's Benny, but there's still that niggling doubt in the back of his mind that wants to find something wrong, some kind of threat. A quiet sigh slides over his lips, and before he can change his mind he asks, “Would you mind if I performed a truth spell on you?”

“Nah, go ahead,” Benny says easily, and the acquiescence alone puts Castiel more at ease.

The wizard reaches up and places two fingers on Benny's forehead. There are no words to this spell, just a simple focus of will and magic and, most importantly, touch. The shape-changer holds still, and after a few seconds his eyes glaze over. “Name?” Castiel asks.

“Benjamin Lafitte.”

“Are you a hunter?”

“Yes.”

“Do you intend to harm Dean Winchester?”

“ _No.”_ The last is said with such vehemence that Castiel feels himself relax completely. He takes his fingers away and Benny shakes his head sharply. A few rapid-fire blinks and the daze in his eyes clears. He quirks an eyebrow at Castiel and says mildly, “That last question was cheating.”

“I don't regret it,” Castiel replies simply, raising both eyebrows in return and holding the shape-changer's gaze. When Benny grins, abrupt and bright, he feels that he may have passed some sort of test.

“All right, then,” Benny says cheerfully. “Meet you here at noon?”

And that's how Castiel finds himself riding shotgun in Benny's once-red pickup truck the next day, an angry Jetta left safely at home, eyes closed as he gathers the white-blue swirl of his magic in preparation.

The sky is a deep blue, not so much as a whorl of cloud to offer shelter from the heat. Today, Castiel welcomes it. The sun may not actually kill vampires, but this much direct light would at least slow them down. The wizard is hoping it doesn't come to that – with any luck, none will escape the crypt and they'll end this cleanly.

The cemetery they're pulling up to is a vibrant green in defiance of the sun. A few old maple trees cast some shade over the rows of headstones, but they are all a decent distance from the crypt, which sits roughly in the center of the graveyard. The time-worn stone structure is intimidating, but not so large that Castiel can't easily fill it with flame.

“How well-visited is this cemetery?” Castiel asks as they make their way across the grass.

“There's a groundskeeper, but he'll be on lunch for a while,” Benny answers. “Been scopin' the place out for a week, an' in that time I've seen two people here. Should be fine.”

Castiel gives a short nod. He can always conceal their faces if someone comes along. “Do you have a back-up plan?”

“Yeah. You miss any, I'll catch 'em with my claws while you light 'em up.”

To demonstrate, Benny holds up a hand with a grin, and Castiel watches as wickedly curved, sharp black claws morph out of and grow from the tips of his fingers. They disappear again just as easily on a wink and a shake of Benny's hand.

“After you.” Benny stretches out an arm in an exaggerated gesture. Castiel rolls his eyes and ignores Benny's chuckle as he walks towards the crypt.

He gets a grip on the door. “Ya need a minute?” Benny asks quietly.

Castiel nods once, sharply. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, imagining that he's drawing all the free energy that the area has to offer into his body. When he feels it build to the threatening twinge of pain, he nods again and snaps open his eyes.

The fire flows freely from Castiel's hands as Benny yanks open the door, filling the space inside the crypt with heat and light and the startled, pained screams of the monsters within. For one exhilarating moment, Castiel thinks they have them all. Then two near the door burst out and into the light, one shedding its flaming denim jacket and the other dropping to roll out the flame eating at his back and hair. Benny throws out a hand and his claws extend to what seems impossible lengths, piercing right through the second vampire's back and pinning him to the ground.

“Get the other one!” he yells, and Castiel sends one last burst of flame into the crypt and lunges forward.

He's too far away. The last vampire is making for the road, arms over his head to shield himself from the sun. Castiel can't extend his fire that far, and he won't make it to him before the vampire reaches the shelter of the public eye.

The jolt of Traveling on the fumes of his magical energy nearly sends Castiel to his knees. They shake anyway as he appears a yard or so before the vampire, and when he throws out a hand and sends one last blast of flame out from his hand, his vision blurs. He grits his teeth, doesn't let go until the last bone is destroyed, and when he finally lets up it isn't really by choice. There are black spots growing larger in his line of sight. He feels the impact distantly as he falls to the ground, grass soft and warm against his cheek.

The last thing he hears before the darkness takes him is the sound of his name, cried out in fear.

~

Sam has never been more grateful to be a runner as he eats up the ground separating him from Castiel, long legs pumping faster than he's ever dared to push them. He calls out to the man again, his mind a whirl of confusion and curiosity and _panic_ because he _just watched Castiel throw a ball of fire out of his hand,_ but it can wait. Everything can wait until Sam knows Castiel is breathing.

Sam's knees skid through the grass as he lands less than gracefully beside Castiel's prone body. He reaches out a hand and presses two fingers to his throat, letting out a shaky breath of relief because it's steady, he's okay. He's okay.

Sam's hand slides away. He gazes at Castiel's face, at the firm cut of his jaw and the chapped lips and the clumped lashes splayed across his cheeks. It's just Cas, quiet and quirky and so bad at reading facial cues it's kind of hilarious. Sam touches him again, fingers to his cheek, like he just has to be sure. Which, really, he does, because he just watched Castiel appear out of thin air and throw a ball of fire.

Yeah. That's not making sense any time soon.

“Cas?” Sam whispers thinly. He slides his fingers back to his pulse, still strong but god, he doesn't look okay. He's pale and his breaths are coming too shallow, too fast.

“He won't wake up yet,” a new, thickly accented voice calls out. Sam looks up sharply and sees Benny walking towards him. He'd met him last week, when Dean finally decided he was keeping the guy and that meant he had to meet everyone, Sam of course being first on the list. He looks worried, expression pulled into a tight frown, and as Sam watches claws ease into Benny's hands and disappear. “He used too much magic all at once. We need to get him outta here before someone sees the smoke and the cops show up.”

Distantly, Sam is aware that he's starting to shake. There's a cold sensation in his chest and a dimness to his awareness that he knows objectively is a mild shock, if mild is a word he can really use in this situation, but he can't seem to make himself do anything about it. Benny, _Dean's fucking Benny,_ is standing there coolly wiping blood from his hands and smiling sympathetically at Sam.

“Know it's a bit much, brother, but we gotta move.”

Maybe he should call the cops. For a long moment Sam stares numbly between the two, his Cas and Benny, but it's the sudden pained sound of Castiel moaning that kicks him into gear. He slides his arms beneath Castiel's body and lifts him, nodding sharply at Benny to lead on.

They lay Castiel in the bed of Benny's truck, on a thick plaid blanket that Benny just happens to have tucked back there. Sam makes sure that Castiel is as settled as he can be, waiting until he's in the truck and Benny's pulling out onto the road before he explodes.

“What the _hell_ just happened?”

“Vampire nest,” Benny says calmly, like that's the most normal thing in the world. “Castiel's a wizard with a knack for fire, makes for easy vamp killin'. Well, usually. I'm a hunter, 'case you're interested.”

“Does Dean know?” And okay, so not what he needs to know right now.

“Not yet,” Benny says tightly. “I'm plannin' on tellin' him, though, since he seems intent on my stickin' around.”

“What...” Sam swallows hard around the knot of disbelief saying _no,_ he is _not_ allowed to ask. “What else are you?”

Benny chuckles. It's gruff and wry and more than a little on edge. “Shape-changer.”

“Right. Of course.” Sam turns to stare out the window because he can't stare at Benny. All he sees are those claws morphing back into fingernails. “And Cas is a wizard. And those were vampires. Right. I'll just be waking up now.”

Another chuckle escapes Benny, easier this time. “What were ya doin' there, anyway?”

“It's Wednesday,” Sam says, weakly. “Mom died on a Wednesday.”

Shit, and how many times has he nearly died on a Wednesday because there were _vampires?_ How many times has he come that close to them, how long have they been there? No. No no no, this is not happening, he's dreaming. A very, _very_ vivid dream. Next thing, he'll wake up, and it'll be Wednesday morning, and he'll go on his run with Gabe clinging to his neck. He'll have his coffee, and go see Mom, and take Cas out again -- maybe finally get up the nerve to ask if it's okay to kiss him.

He doesn't realize he's whispering “no” over and over under his breath until Benny puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes once, hard.

Somehow, Sam holds it together, even when Benny bypasses the hospital and takes Castiel straight to his shop. The wards are better there, he says, and the doctors can't help him anyway. Sam doesn't even bother pretending to understand, just numbly carries Castiel inside and into a storage room. There's a cot tucked up against the far left corner. Sam lays him on it, arranges the pillow and pulls the blanket over him. There's some color in Castiel's cheeks now, and his breathing is steadying.

“He'll be okay?” Sam asks quietly.

Beside him, Benny nods. “He'll be okay.”

Sam gets another squeeze on his shoulder, and then Benny walks back out into the main part of the shop. Helpless and hating it, Sam sinks down along the wall so he's sitting by Castiel's head and just tries to process the last hour.

It doesn't go particularly well.

After what could be ten minutes or ten hours, Sam really has no idea, Dean barges into the back room. He flies to Sam's side and kneels, gripping Sam's face in both hands and demanding that Sam tell him he's okay, is he alright? Sam just nods, too numb at this point to do anything else, and the second he has confirmation Dean's up and checking on Cas. He reaches into his coat and pulls out a squirming Jetta, places her on Castiel's chest. His face is set, closed off in a way that means he's too angry to deal with anything right now, and so he's gone into caretaker mode until it's safe for him to explode.

Once he seems satisfied with the situation, Dean kneels down in front of Sam. “Tell me he didn't ask you to come on a hunt.” His tone is almost pleading. “I'll kick his ass if he did.”

“No,” Sam mutters, and oh god, Dean's talking like Benny. Dean _knows._ “I didn't know, until like an hour ago. I think. You know.”

Dean nods. “I've been friends with Cas for three years. Met him after I found out I can communicate with animals, which kinda got me into a couple hunts. I was drunk off my ass in The Roadhouse and starting blurting out all kinds of stuff I shouldn't've. Ellen heard me, and told me to go see Cas. I didn't tell you about him 'cause he doesn't really like interacting with other people much, and you know, the whole wizard thing. I didn't want you to get sucked into the whole hunting business. But then you went and got yourself a Familiar with Cas's eyes and things got weird, man... Guess I was just kinda hoping that maybe he'd told you by now,” he sighs, “but I think he was terrified you'd take off on him.”

It's too much information all at once, overloading Sam in ways he doesn't know how to handle, and yet he picks out the one thing that probably shouldn't have been the most important. “Cas's eyes?”

Everything had blue eyes the day he met Castiel. Had it been... he shies away from the word “ _premonition_ ,” still too caught up on _Castiel is a wizard_ and _Dean is a hunter and can talk to animals and oh, god..._

“Yeah, Cas told me about it once, something about... I think he called them bondmates. Wizards and witches can find bondmates because they have a Familiar with the eyes of their mate. Supposed to make 'em stronger, but Cas was really confused because you don't have magic, I guess. Which means you shouldn't have a Familiar at all.”

“Stop.” The word rips from him in a whisper, low and harsh and desperate. “Please. I can't...”

Dean just nods. He gets up and hauls Sam to his feet, hugs him brief but tight and starts to drag him out of the room.

“Where are we going?” Sam asks, feebly trying once to resist, his concern for Castiel still fresh.

“Home,” Dean insists. “He'll be okay, you can come check on him tomorrow.”

So Sam lets Dean drag him home. He lets him pour whiskey down his throat and put him to bed like a kid. When he wakes up, Sam's still concerned and more than a little confused, but now he has something else, something hot and sharp in his chest that drives him out of bed and into yesterday's clothes in quick, jerky movements.

Now he's _pissed._

He storms into Castiel's pet shop with a fury he's never felt, slams the door open so hard it rebounds off the wall. Castiel looks up sharply from behind the counter. He's still pale, making the dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes more prominent. Those eyes widen, startled, when Sam stomps up to the counter and slams his hands down on the surface. Jetta squeaks and buries her face in Castiel's throat, and Gabe, who somehow got around Sam's neck even though Sam didn't look for him, scrambles to hang on to Sam's shirt as his back end slips off his shoulder.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Sam hisses furiously. “You know how much I love magic. You know! It's all over my apartment! I just, I never wanted to go so far as to believe in it, wanted to keep my head in the real world, and here you were all along with _real magic_ and you didn't think I'd want to _know?_ Did you think I'd leave you over something I've wanted my entire freaking _life?”_

And that's the problem. It's not that Castiel's a wizard, or that vampires and shape-changers and fucking magic is real. It's just that Castiel didn't tell him.

“Were you afraid I'd leave you?” Sam asks, tone softening, and the guilt and regret on Castiel's face is answer enough. The anger drains from him in an instant. He reaches quickly across the counter to cup Castiel's face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Hey. Even if I didn't like magic, I care about you way too much to just ditch you over that, okay? But I do like magic and... and oh my god, Cas, you have to tell me _everything!”_

Castiel's eyes are shining now, and the smile on his face is devastating, the widest smile Sam's seen yet. He lifts his hands and slides them over Sam's, doesn't pull them way, just stands there like that. “Everything,” he promises softly. “Everything I know. But Sam, I can't tell you why you have a Familiar. I don't think a non-magical person has ever had a Familiar before.”

“That's okay. We'll figure it out.” Sam just grins and it's insane how much he wants to kiss Castiel right now, but as usual he can't quite get up the guts to do it, to just ask.

“Sam?” Castiel gently removes Sam's hands from his face and comes around the counter, until he's right in Sam's personal space. He puts his hands on Sam's shoulders and tips his face back, his eyes soft and amused and welcoming.

“Can you read minds, too?” Sam asks, not sure if he's intrigued or a little freaked out by the idea.

Castiel slides a hand around the back of Sam's head. “Maybe,” he says, tone too ambiguous for Sam to tell if he's teasing or not. Then he tugs once, tipping his head up just that little bit further, intentions all too clear.

“I wasn't sure if you'd like it,” Sam blurts. “I mean, some don't, you know? 'Cause people just assume it's a sexual thing, and it so doesn't have to be, and --”

Sam doesn't get another word out because Castiel kisses him, wraps his arms around Sam's neck and presses himself flush against his chest.

They kiss right there in front of the counter until a customer walks in and coughs. They break apart laughing, and to Sam's surprise Castiel tells the customer he's sorry, but they're closed.

Thirty minutes later, Sam is on the couch in Castiel's cluttered living room, remembering just why he loves the intimacy that is sharing a kiss so much.

It takes quite a while before Castiel finally gets around to explaining everything.

~

Four Months Later

~

Sam finds a possible answer over winter break.

They're in Castiel's apartment, snuggled up on the couch. Castiel is half asleep because he was up most of the night working on a potion – Sam doesn't think the fact that Castiel is a _wizard_ is going to get old any time soon. There's an obscure book of Greek myths open in Sam's lap, one he found in a secondhand shop not far from Companions. He's not really looking for anything just then, and so almost misses the connection that makes him abruptly shout and slap his hand to the page.

“What?” Castiel blinks sleepily and tilts back his head, hair brushing against Sam's throat. “What is it?”

“There's a story in here about a witch -- well, sort of, she's more of a priestess? Anyway, she ends up marrying a man with no power whatsoever, and it turns out it's that whole 'opposites attract' thing. Like rather than drawing power from more power, they sort of balance each other out.”

“That... actually makes perfect sense,” Castiel murmurs, stunned, like he's amazed he hasn't thought of it already. “My magic has always been quite volatile. It's another reason I avoid people.”

“And it's been more stable lately?” Sam asks, and he grins when Castiel nods slowly.

“Yes, my fire hasn't been quite so dangerous,” Castiel says, and now he's smiling and rolling his eyes at himself like he does when he thinks he's being an idiot. “And I've been Traveling without quite as much of a crash, afterward. But that still doesn't explain why you have a Familiar.”

Sam shrugs. “Well, we weren't really finding each other even though you were friends with Dean. Maybe Gabe came to me just so I could come to you?”

Gabe and Jetta, who are playing on the floor at their feet, abruptly stop as one and stare at the pair like they are the biggest idiots to ever walk the planet.

“Well you could have just told Dean that!” Sam yells indignantly – he's being stared down by a ferret and a guinea pig. There is no world where this is okay.

Jetta rolls her little hazel eyes in a manner eerily similar to an annoyed Castiel, and hops on Gabe's back to resume the rough-housing. Castiel chuckles, low and warm, and Sam tosses the book onto the end table so he can kiss the smile that he's just decided he's in love with.

He says it quietly later, murmurs it into Castiel's hair, and grins helplessly when Castiel whispers it back to him.

~

END

**Author's Note:**

> Sam is an otter. Because Cas says so. 
> 
> Kudos make me stupidly happy. ^_^_^_^_^


End file.
